


The Earth Still Spins

by alphaofallcats



Series: The Fire Escape (Punk Boys SNK AU) [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Don’t copy to another site, Explicit Language, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Punk Eren Yeager, Punk Jean Kirstein, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-09-29 18:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17209097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphaofallcats/pseuds/alphaofallcats
Summary: "I want to fall in love with him, I don’t care how or when or why.”





	1. so give in

**Author's Note:**

> For Lil and SJ.

“If you called to tell me you had an essay due at midnight and forgot about it I’m going to want more than just weed. I’m going to want some of your hydrocodone.”

“I probably did,” Eren says, flicking the ash of his cigarette into a puddle of New York City grime and rainwater. He shifts to dip the toe of his sneaker in, waiting until his sock feels damp before stretching his legs into the street, ass going numb on the curb of the sidewalk. “But I’m calling about something else.”

There’s a pause. A long pause. Then Armin sighs and says, “Are you waiting for me, or…?”

“I met someone.”

“Okay, well,” Armin says, “it’s 3am and I don’t know why you called to tell me this. So I’m hanging up now.”

“No!” Eren shoots up from the curb, dropping his cigarette as he nearly trips over his own feet. He feels like his skin is on fire, his nerves tingling, arms raised in goosebumps. If he doesn’t talk about this _now_ he might throw up. “Armin, you don’t understand, I just met the love of my life.”

“You said that about Annie after she nearly cracked your head on the edge of a pool table.”

“No, _no_ this is _different_. I said Annie was my next Super Saiyan Crush, not The Love Of My Life.”

“Is there a difference between the two?” Armin asks around a yawn.

“ _Yes_! Armin, listen, I wouldn’t say this about just anybody!” He glances down at the purple fabric Timex watch Mikasa gave him last Christmas. “I’ve known him for three hours and twenty-two minutes—”

“What have you taken tonight?”

“—and he’s so, so sad. Not in a way that I’m saying he’s a pathetic loser. I’m just saying he’s sad, depressed sad, ya know? Like he needs a hug and an orgasm sad.” He’s on a roll now, not even processing the words as he says them, too charged, too exhilarated, too overwhelmed. “His hair is kind of stupid, two colors. But his eyes are like this golden hazel brown, and he _was_ wearing a shirt that said ‘Houston, I have so many problems.’ Armin, that’s space, _space_ —”

“Did you smoke or drink tonight?”

“—and, okay, he’s not Abercrombie model attractive, but he’s got the kind of face that you find more attractive the more you fall in love with the person—”

“I thought we talked about mixing your hydrocodone with vodka.” 

“—and I want to, I _want_ to fall in love with him, I don’t care how or when or why.”

“Eren,” Armin says, “Does he have money?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Armin sounds amused. “Prince Charming better get your uber home then, because according to Locate My iPhone you’re in the Bronx, and I’m not paying to get you back to Brooklyn."

“Were you listening to anything I said?” he asks, lighting another cigarette.

“Nope,” Armin says, and he’s probably grinning, the smug bastard. “You’re just going to tell me everything again once you’re back.”

Eren smiles on an exhale of smoke, turns to smirk at the guy leaning against a utility pole a few feet away.

“Yeah, I’ll tell you later.”

Armin hangs up, and Jean Kirstein, The Love of Eren’s Life, stares at him with a look that’s more heat than light.

“You’re a dick,” Jean says eventually, stomping over to flick Eren’s forehead. He shoves his hand down the front pocket of Eren’s jeans, steals his lighter and the plastic Ziploc bag of pills. “I don’t even know you.” 

“Not yet,” Eren says. “Not fucking yet.”


	2. or just give up

Up until this point, Jean thinks he’s only spoken to Eren Jaeger two times. So it doesn’t make sense why he comes up to Jean during one of Sasha’s parties.

“You seem lost,” Eren says, stepping in front him, cheeks flushed from his buzz, hair messy like he’s been in bed with someone. He looks happy, smiling stupidly soft as he bounces on the balls of his feet. 

“I’m not lost,” Jean snaps, tugging at the tab of his beer can.

“Well,” Eren says, spinning in a circle, “the party is over there.” He points, then finishes his three-sixty to look directly at Jean before be leans gently on the wall next to him. “And you’re over here.”

Jean doesn’t want to exactly say that he’s not great at this, that he hasn’t been for a while, that he’s only had half a beer but the anxiety twisting around his rib cage makes the room feel like it’s upside down. He’s only ever had two — no, maybe it’s only actually been one — conversation with Eren prior to this, they barely fucking know each other, but— 

But Eren is here and the party is over there, and he seems perfectly content to just stand next to Jean.


	3. are we growing up

After three months and five days, Eren realizes that Jean isn’t who he wants everyone to think he is. He acts like a jerk and scoffs when people think they’re better than him. But underneath that, Eren sees the lost drifting and wandering, the shameful anxiety of not knowing. The need to belong but not wanting the risk of attachment.

They share a joint after some beers, and Jean somehow manages to get Eren out of his Good Will bomber jacket so he can wear it. It looks good. Especially when Jean crawls into his lap to jerk them off. And then even more so when Jean spills between them and gets cum on the denim.

According to his watch, they’ve been sitting there in silence for twelve minutes and Jean’s already desperately hard again— when was the last time someone _touched_ him? Touched him _like this_?

“What do you want to do with your life?” Eren asks, amused when Jean starts grinding against him again. Eren reaches down to help, squeezes just-so, in a way that makes Jean weak, and Jean hates being weak, hates being vulnerable, so it must _mean_ something that Eren can—

“Fuck if I know,” Jean pants, his breath hot in Eren’s ear. “I don’t even like getting up in the morning, why would I want to live long enough to do something with myself?”

“Then why do you?” Eren asks, swiping his thumb over the head of Jean’s cock, preening when Jean twitches and whines. It’s nice to know Jean’s sensitive like this too. 

“Why do you get up?” he clarifies, dragging his teeth along Jean’s throat.

“Spite?” Jean says, “I wanna watch it all burn. The city. The whole fucking world.”

“That’s pretty morbid, dude.”

“Well, I’m not asking you to keep me company, _dude_.”

“And I’m not stopping you from going home.”

Jean’s fingers clench into a fist as he chokes on a moan. He sucks in a breath before managing, “I want to be important. That’s what I want to do with my life. Be important.”

Eren holds Jean’s hips, guides him so he’s rubbing harder against him. He doesn’t want to get off, not that this _isn’t_ making him achingly hard, but he wants to see Jean fall apart again.

“What do you want to do?” Jean rasps.

“Take someone on a date.” He laughs. “Afford it too.”

“Do you put out on the first date?”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“Fuck you.”

Eren hums thoughtfully, “Maybe not today.” He reaches a hand back to slip in Jean’s pants, squeezes his ass, looks him straight in the eyes and says, “If you’re waiting for permission to cum then fucking cum already.”

Jean does, and Eren spends the next morning bribing Armin for laundry money so he can clean the stains out of his jacket.


	4. or just going down?

It’s been— well, Jean’s not sure how long it’s been, but it’s been some time. And they’re strolling around Pier 51 at Hudson River Park one night when Eren finally asks. 

He’s balancing on a concrete ledge, standing on the side along the river, arm occasionally reaching out to grab the railing. He casts a quick glance at Jean when he says, “Something happened to you, didn’t it?”

Jean freezes. He should have expected it. Really, he should have. Because this is what _happens_ when you make friends, you open up, you talk about things. Jean kind of wants to throw up and kind of wants to punch Eren in the face, but he also kind of wants to tug him down, bury his face in the crook of his neck and _cry_.

“Something did, yeah,” he says. 

They continue walking again. Taxi doors slam shut and sneakers hit pavement and people talk on phones and hurry home and rush to night-shifts. The second hand on Eren’s watch still ticks. The earth still spins. Jean watches Eren and listens to him talk about the rings of Saturn, listens because Eren doesn’t push him for information, doesn’t force or guilt it out of him. It kind of makes Jean want to hold his hand.

So he reaches out, and does.


	5. it's just a matter of time

It’s been five months and twelve days since they met and Eren knows he would jump off the Queensboro Bridge for Jean if he asked.

“Make a suicide pact with me.”

Jean wheezes. “What the fucking hell, _why_?”

“Because,” Eren says, using the sleeve of his Knicks sweatshirt to wipe the blood off Jean’s face. They’re going to have to find Armin, wherever he is in the city, so he can reset Jean’s nose. But first, Jean needs to calm down.

“Because?”

“Because,” Eren nods. “Just because.”

“Well just because I’m a depressed piece of shit doesn’t mean I have to drag you down with me.”

“Which is exactly why we’re making a pact.”

Jean moves to punch him, but Eren grabs his wrist and pulls Jean close, wrapping his arms around him. Jean melts into it and finally, _finally_ , cries. And what starts as weak tears turns into raspy, desperate sobbing. Eren’s not sure if the damp patch forming on his hoodie is blood or snot. Doesn’t matter, regardless, it used to be Ymir’s anyway.

“Fucking prick,” Jean finally manages to breathe, arms looped under Eren’s hoodie, locked tight and clinging, nails biting through the fabric of his shirt. “You can’t— you can’t _threaten_ me with your own life, that’s such— such fucking— that’s _bullshit_.”

“You won’t do it though. Won’t let me die.”

Five months and twelve days and Jean clings tighter and says, “I won’t.”

\- - - -

It’s the first time Armin and Jean meet face to face, five months and twelve days, and Jean’s nervous, Eren can tell, but Armin doesn’t really give a shit about the situation because it’s normal for him at this point. Armin fixes Jean’s nose and washes the blood out of Eren’s hoodie, both with eased practice.

“I honest to god thought you made him up while tripping on acid,” Armin says once Jean’s asleep, head in Eren’s lap and wrapped under the blanket Armin saves for when Eren crashes on his couch. “Thought you were too embarrassed to admit that so you dragged it out.”

“No,” Eren says, “he’s real.”

“Real gorgeous.” Armin carefully rolls the paper of his joint, waiting a moment before asking, “you sleep with him yet?”

Armin always asks the important questions.

Eren untangles knots in Jean’s hair and says, “Yeah. Just once.”

“ _And_?”

He laughs. “And we decided next time we should do it sober so we remember.”


	6. until we're all found out

Jean’s known Eren long enough to trust him, so they make their pact. It’s not exactly a suicide pact, but it’s close enough to make him call Eren whenever his head gets heavy and fuzzy. Then, at least, he doesn’t have to waste the gas driving to the East River.


	7. take our tears

Seven months, one week, and five days, and Jean goes to California for the summer. Most of Eren’s nights are restless, he turns and tosses and stretches and curls up, but no matter what, he feels nauseatingly uncomfortable. Like his skin is too tight, a pit in his stomach that thrums through him in numbing but twitching ways.

He can’t sleep and it drives him mad. At least during the day he can find someone to hang out with so he’s distracted. But no one’s awake at four a.m. when he’s suffocating from an aching void that’s devouring him from the inside out.

Except for Jean, who is awake, apparently, because he’s hours behind.

“Why haven’t you texted me?”

“I can’t sleep.”

There’s a moment where they just breathe together, and the knot begins unfurling, hesitant and slow but still unwinding nonetheless.

“Why can’t you sleep?” Jean asks.

“Dunno,” Eren says, even though it’s childish. He knows but he doesn’t want to—

“Eren.” Jean’s voice is low, soft. A whisper. “Get some sleep.”

And he does. When he wakes up six hours later the call is still on. He gives it another hour before he hangs up, and there’s a text Jean must have sent when he fell asleep.

**Will come back to you. Promise.**


End file.
